Rod's a cut above Geri as Labour's new mood music

In 1997 they entertained Oasis. This time they've used Geri Halliwell. But yesterday Labour stepped on to a higher celebrity plane as the party looked once again to the pop world for inspiration.

Journalists arriving at Millbank for the first Labour press conference of the week barely noticed the background music at first. Then, slowly, realisation spread round the room as the hacks recognised the unmistakable strains of Rod Stewart. "The first cut is the deepest," he warbled.

If they had left it at that, the moment would have gone down as a fine example of New Labour's satirical timing. Unfortunately the spinmeisters laboured the point. The reporters were still smiling at the music when someone muttered "Oh no": social security secretary Alistair Darling had entered the room carrying a blue briefcase marked "Tory boom and bust budget". "Ho ho," was the most polite of the journalists' responses.

Naff Labour's stunts may be, but they are at least well run. Around the corner at Tory central office, yesterday's press conference teetered on the edge of farce. For almost a week the party has refused to hold a morning briefing for journalists, a radical de parture from the traditional election script that prompted allegations that the Tories were running away from scrutiny. So yesterday, out came the biggest hitters - William Hague, Michael Portillo and Michael Ancram - to nail this lie. They should not have bothered.

Mr Hague had no sooner launched the party's business manifesto than he and his lieutenant found themselves facing a barrage of questions, mainly about their taxation policies and the future frontbench prospects of Oliver Letwin, the suddenly invisible shadow Treasury secretary. With every inquiry, the politicians' smiles grew ever more forced, their replies more testy.

The Tory leader could not even rely on his press allies to bail him out. Casting around the room for a more friendly question, Mr Hague gratefully selected Daniel Johnson, one of the Daily Telegraph's senior rightwing thinkers. Mr Johnson's best thinking is clearly not done on his feet, for when he was handed the microphone, the best he could come up with was "Er, er, er, um." Deep breath. A few tense moments of silence, then another stutter. Then, to jeers from his fellow correspondents, an imploring "Could you come back to me?"

True to his word, he was back on the mic a few minutes later with a nasty, probing question for Mr Hague along the lines of "How brilliant do you think George W Bush is and would you like to be him?" Even Mr Hague failed to hide his astonishment that this was the best that one of the sharpest minds in broadsheet newspapers had managed to come up with after two attempts.

Amid such ridiculous scenes, the launch of the Monster Raving Loony party's manifesto seemed staid by comparison. For their first campaign since the death of Screaming Lord Sutch, the Loonies staked their claim to be the leading election wackos with a blank manifesto.

"If a smile was a vote we would win by a landslide," said the party's new leader, Alan Hope, trying manfully to recapture the old magic. Sitting alongside Mr Hope, one of 54 Loony candidates, was the deputy leader, Cat Mandu, a four-year-old ginger and white moggy. And, with the spirit of their inspiration and founder everywhere in the room, that was as loony as it got.

The Tories' torrid day continued as the party leaders hit their battlebuses and escaped Westminster in search of real punters. Mr Hague was off to key marginal Northampton South (Labour majority: 744). More than 100 Tory supporters had turned out to greet their leader, but the much smaller crowd of Labour protesters soon provided Mr Hague with one of the most noisily hostile audiences he has faced. A planned walkabout was hastily abandoned, as Mr Hague headed straight from the battlebus to his soapbox-style platform. But after struggling to be heard over shouts of "where's the money coming from?" and "racist scum" he scuttled back to his vehicle. The visit, scheduled for 20 minutes, lasted barely 10.

Mr Hague may not enjoy these confrontations, but for the media pack travelling round the country for an all-too-rare glimpse of the Tory leader in action, they offer brief but precious moments of relief.

To break the tedium yesterday, the hacks launched a monster round of Battlebus Bingo. The rules are simple: for £1, each reporter is given three of Mr Hague's key catchphrases - "failed to deliver", "in Europe not run by Europe", and "a soft touch" are particular favourites. The first player to cross off their three as they are uttered by Mr Hague during one of his rousing addresses to voters wins the pot.

Meanwhile Tony Blair was also facing a revolt - of sorts - from the ranks of the fourth estate. While their less fortunate colleagues roughed it on the Labour press battlebus, Channel 5 News followed the prime minister's convoy around south London yesterday from the comfort of a white stretch limo, complete with six bottles of champagne, a box of fine Havana cigars and Lauren Booth, the PM's sister-in-law.

The stunt, according to the broadcaster, had a serious point: the combined cost of hiring the limo and its various luxurious accoutrements (Ms Booth excepted) still worked out cheaper than the £564 per day per journalist that Labour is charging news organisations to accompany Mr Blair.

The day ended in mercifully peaceful fashion as John Prescott ventured into Wales for the first time since his explosive encounter with an egg and a protester's chin in Rhyl, to the north of the principality. This time around, the deputy PM was in the south, and not a single member of the public was in sight as he arrived at the Seaview Labour club in Barry, flanked by a dozen police officers.

"I'm delighted to be back in Wales again," he said diplomatically, before qualifying his remark. "South Wales."